Five Moments in Jarlos
by R for Rebel
Summary: Personally, maybe my best set of shorts ever. Five moments in Jarlos: told from James POV, we explore five defining moments between James and Carlos. T for implied sexual themes.


_**One.**_

It's late and it's hot outside in bustling California. Ms. Knight left the windows open, and the sluggish breeze rolls into the apartment room like a lazy cat whose just got done with a nap in the sun.

James can't sleep. It eludes him, and he can't place why. He thinks at first maybe it's the wind, but that's ridiculous; the breeze is far too relaxing to be annoying to the point where it's keeping him awake.

He turns over to get more comfortable and his problem is staring him blatantly in the face. Carlos is curled under a mountain of duvets and crocodile pillow pets, his little toes peeking out and wiggling every couple of minutes. His hair is tousled and sticking up in the most ador- _intriguing_ manner. The Latino's face is slack, and James can make out a trail of saliva dripping from his open mouth.

James is getting up before he even realizes it, and when he does, he stops halfway into a sitting position. He wants to go over there _so bad_, but he's not sure _why_.

He realizes then he now has _two _blatant problems keeping him from sleep.

_**Two.**_

James watches as the water ripples down the surface, sliding over each bump and crevice. It drips in little rivers, and falls away in glistening paths.

James just can't take his eyes of Carlos' water-drenched abs.

James' abs are washboard-shaped rocks, but Carlos'…they're like beautiful rolling meadows of delicious tawny goodness. Sun glistening, drenching them in a warm glow, James has the inane urge to run his fingertips over all those soft bumps and freckles, and see if Carlos will gasp with the shock.

After all, he did that last night. James just wonders if he'll do it here at the pool. He thinks probably not. Frankly, he's still wondering if last night was just a very _vivid_ wet dream. All the same, Carlos' smile as he approaches him outshines the sun, and James almost doesn't want to think about last night in the fear it _was_ all unconscious whim and lust.

Like the Latino's abs, James and Carlos are not particularly defined, but they are there, and they are together, and that makes all the difference.

_**Three.**_

They're driving, and James could have sworn that deer wasn't there two seconds ago. Carlos yelps his name in warning, and it takes one more instant for James to turn the wheel _just enough_ that they miss the wide-eyed buck by inches.

They drive for one more mile in shocked silence before James makes a sharp turn onto the side of the road and stops the car. The ignition fizzles out at the snap of the keys, and their left to their own shallow breathes. James admires Carlos calming gaze as their eyes meet, and when the taller boy asks him if he's alright, all Carlos does is give a sturdy nod. The Latino raises a brow at him, still in stunned silence, and James simply waves a hand at him dismissively.

He can't, _won't _wave off Carlos' hand as it snakes its way up to his face, though, tan thumb rubbing at his temple in a worried gesture. James feels his brow relax and his eyes flutter shut with the touch, and Carlos is smiling when he opens his eyes again, a large, cheeky grin that's half relief and half happiness.

The boy runs on pure rainbows and snorts glitter, James is almost certain of that.

_**Four.**_

Sticks click in sharp procession as the Thomason High Bears congratulate the opposing team on their win. They skate off the ice and into the locker room as "Pump It" by the Black Eyed Peas plays over the rink's intercom, and James is mumbling the lyrics under his breath as he takes off his sweaty gear and rummages through his duffel for a towel. Carlos plops down next to him, a slightly sad smile crossing his face.

He gives James a firm pat on the back, trying to cheer him up, but James just kinda wants to go home and emo out to a little Black Veil Brides. It was his screw up. It's his fault they lost the biggest game _ever_.

Carlos passes right by his street on the way home. James does a double take and then turns to his friend, confused. All Carlos does is smile this secret little smile that James has _never_ seen, and James has _never_ wanted to see something so bad again.

When they pull up in front of a tiny ice cream shop on the outer skirts of town, Carlos doesn't waste time as he reaches over and unbuckles James buckle and hops out of the car. James laughs softly at the absurdity, and as he reaches for the door handle, the door is yanked open and a tan hand appears. Carlos leads him all the way to the front of the little shop, like James might lose his way if he lets go of his hand.

In all honest, James has the feeling he just _might_ if he ever _did_.

_**Five.**_

They're leaning together against the wall outside a seedy little club in downtown LA. An ember twists away from the cigarette in the tall brunette's hand as he passes it to his shorter companion. Carlos takes a drag, and James is surprised to see Carlos start puffing out little rings of smoke. A dirty thought comes to mind, and James pushes it away as he squints in the dark at the low-burning end of the death-stick. He makes out a flicker of Carlos' smile in the dim light.

James smiles himself and takes the cigarette back, puffing away the last of it. He drops it to the ground at his feet, and is about to grind it out when Carlos' pleather loafer covers the embers. James looks up in surprise and comes face to face with the small Latino, mere inches from him.

Being so close, he can see Carlos' big brown eyes glitter in the pulsing lights from the wavering neon sign above. A breath passes, and then their lips meet in a wet kiss; teeth and gums and tongues cracking and crashing, fighting and struggling in a beautiful dance for dominance. A smooth hand runs up a side and down again, and a primal moan rips the air to shreds around their heads. The wall becomes the only thing between them and the cold, alcohol stained ground, and the taste of nicotine and smoke is all either of them can taste, with maybe a flash of mint or the tang of a margarita. James thinks it's far from and exactly everything a kiss should be. After all, Carlos is his life; big smiles, big brown eyes, big waving hands, and James never wanted anything more than _this_.

He's never wanted anything more than _Carlos_.

(…Good? Bad? Mas y menos? C: R&R, please.)


End file.
